


London is Not a Playground

by AcierGlace



Category: Death Note, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcierGlace/pseuds/AcierGlace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does not like to share his toys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	London is Not a Playground

“I'm sure this trick is very fascinating, but I don't share my toys.” Sherlock poured the tea John handed him, black with two sugars, over the laptop. The dramatic 'L' emblem vanished in a flurry of hisses and sparks. Lestrade was staring at him in horror, John in resignation, and the elder Japanese man (very familiar) in barely contained amusement. 

“Sherlock! That was L!” Lestrade had paled a few shades towards unhealthy, and the elderly man stepped up to his shoulder with a comforting pat. 

“Quite alright. Master L holds no offense.” Sherlock scowled as the older man gave him a pointed look that suggested he wasn't an exception. John took the tea cup from his hand and leaned down to look at the laptop.

“No one's tried this before?” Sherlock made an impatient noise and tapped his foot. John ignored him.

“Several have tried before.” The elder man shrugged, a paternal look on his face.

“Why not make it waterproof then?” 

“Really, John.” Sherlock picked up the laptop before John could stop him and turned it upside down. The underbelly of the laptop revealed a microphone, and with a casual hand, he indicated the pin tacked to the elder man's hat left on Lestrade's desk. “Just because you destroy the most immediate threat, do not assume that you have removed them all.”

“Ah.” 

“Quite right, Mr. Holmes.” The elder man took the laptop and offered a hand to John. “Shall I keep in touch, Dr. Watson?”

“Don't bother.” Sherlock grabbed his arm before he could accept the handshake and jerked John away from the office. “I'm sure 'L' is quite capable of keeping in touch himself.”

“Sherlock! Where are you going?!” Lestrade was up from behind the desk and following after them in alarm as Sherlock drug John from the offices. “You don't have the case yet!”

“Already on it!”

Lestrade sighed and shook Mr. Watari's hand as he left the office. 

“Master L will keep in touch.” The man smiled benignly and followed in Sherlock's wake. 

“Ah! Before I forget!” Sherlock was back, John absent from his grasp, and crossing the space between them quickly. “You should tell 'L' that his efforts to impersonate Anderson are quite commendable, but the man's taste in tea is as bitter as his personality.” 

Lestrade stilled, eyes darting to the familiar figure of Anderson by Donovan that vanished under an unbecoming slouch. The cap came off next and the scraggly black hair immediately disabused Lestrade that Anderson was having an off day.

“I see.” Surely this thin, ghostly man couldn't be the great and powerful L. Surely. “Very astute, but still incorrect. I am merely L's legman like Watari.”

“Hm.” Sherlock frowned, eyes sharp and bright compared to the dark and blank eyes of L's associate. “Of course. How... convenient of L.”

“Sherlock! Are we going?” John was back and glanced between the two immobile figures, seemingly unsurprised that Anderson was not, in fact, Anderson. 

“Yes. Let's away, John.” Sherlock jerked away, the blank look on the other man's face one of restrained glee. Lestrade recognized the expression as a high-functioning sociopath's version of ecstasy.

“Sherlock! London's not your sandbox!” Of course his bellows went unheard. Lestrade turned his attention to L's associates and, slightly more respectful of the most internationally famous detective than of the Yard's only volunteer consulting detective, gave a tight nod. “Please see fit to do as needed.”

“Thank you.” Watari nodded, and his companion proceeded him out, bare feet silent on the tiled floor. “We'll send you any information concerning this serial killer as needed.”

Lestrade watched them leave and returned to his desk for a sulk. It just wasn't fair that it had to be his city that the two most infamous detectives in the world, after that debacle with Coil and Sherlock made international news, got involved with their pissing contest. Really, bloody unfair.

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble - no planned continuation at present.


End file.
